


Forget and Forgive

by Tarn



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Drunk Sex, First Time, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarn/pseuds/Tarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf does something stupid, can Boromer forgive him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget and Forgive

**Author's Note:**

> One of my early Gandalf /Boromir stories. There aren't a lot of them out there. It's got some really cheesy bits.

Forget and Forgive

Never get drunk with a dwarf and two hobbits. Well, I wasn’t drunk really. Istari can’t get drunk, as mortals understand it, but quite a bit of alcohol does tend to impair one’s judgment. All right, all right, I was drunk as a lord. 

Anyway, we had been in Imladris for over a month, waiting for Elrond to declare Frodo fit for travel. Boredom was starting to settle in. Aragorn had made up some convenient story about scouting with the twins. No telling what those three men’s men were up to in the woods. I thought I heard Arwen muttering something about fratricide soon after they left.

Lacking anything better to do, in part since Elrond had started inviting Legolas to his study for late night ‘chess games’, I had deemed to spend an evening in the company of Merry, Pippin and Gimli.

A great deal of ale later we were sitting in one of the many secluded grottos of Rivendell. One would think the place was constructed with the sole idea of secret trysting and moonlit strolling. Merry handed me back my refilled pint with a grin and launched back into the rather ridiculous line of conversation that he’d been pursuing.

“I’m serious Gandalf. He’s crazy about you. Right Pip?” Merry turned to his companion who was busy giggling as Gimli tickled under the hobbit chin. “Pippin?”

“Oh! Right. Boromir really fancies you, Gandalf. You should ‘ave heard him.”

The pair of hobbit rakes had for years made a game of seducing every man they set their sights on. It had happened to me about a year before Bilbo’s birthday party. Their sweet faces and laughable plea of sexual curiosity about “big people” had suckered me in. I really should have known that I was just another notch on their little belts.

The High Warden of Minas Tirith had been fooled too it seemed. From the sound of it though, he’d been more interested in me than the hobbits. “What did he say?”

Merry perked up again. “Oh, he could tell he wasn’t the first non-hobbit we’d been a bed with. Asked if maybe we’d spent a night with you.”

“And what did you tell him?”

Pippin turned his head but continued to finger Gimli’s beard as he spoke. “The truth. Which got him asking all sorts of questions about how you looked naked and what your beard felt like.” The hobbit was distracted again as Gimli flicked his tongue over a fingertip that had wandered within reach. Pippin squealed and allowed the digit to be pulled into the dwarf’s mouth.

Merry rolled his eyes. “Like Pip said, he was full of questions about you. Sex types questions Gandalf. Not ‘does he like fried potatoes’ or ‘can he dance “Shave the Badger”?’ no. More like ‘is he a good kisser’ and ‘does he like things shoved up his bum’.”

I gave Merry an incredulous look. That didn’t sound like Boromir. “He didn’t really say bum, did he?”

“Well no but you get the point. He’s interested in you.”

I stared into my beer and pondered the very possibility of it. The thought that Boromir might have any romantic interest in me was... madness, sheer madness. And yet, as devil my care about flings as Merry and Pippin were, they were not prone to falsehood. I drank deeply and returned my gaze to Merry.

The hobbit was grinning as he watched Pippin and Gimli kissing intensely. Nimble Tookish fingers were unfastening the hooks and buckles of the dwarf’s jerkin. Lucky for Pippin that Gimli had forgone his usual mail shirt.

“Merry.” I said sternly and he looked at me with a bit of a start. “Did he say anything else?”

The hobbit shrugged. “Just that he didn’t have the guts to just come on to you. That’s why I’m doing it.” He grinned. “I’m such a romantic.” 

A moan came from the pair next to Merry. Both Pippin and Gimli were shirtless and the dwarf’s mouth was latched securely over Pippins left nipple. 

“Hey! No fair starting without me!” Merry pulled off his vest and shirt to jump up and press himself against Gimli’s back, kissing his shoulders and stroking his hairy chest.

That was my signal to leave. As I walked back to my room, Merry’s words repeated in my thoughts. The specter of Boromir’s supposed interest followed me to my chambers and straight to the decanter of dwarven whiskey in my sitting room. I poured myself a stiff drink and downed it without a thought. It burned sweetly, like whiskey is meant to and I poured and emptied two more before I knew quite what I was doing. All I could think about was Boromir’s hard, warrior’s body pressed against mine.

What was so absurd about it after all? Boromir would not be the first fine man far, far, far younger than me to find my flowing grey locks, sparkling eyes, and charming wit appealing. So why not?

As the contents of the bottle dropped lower and lower, my courage scaled higher and higher. By the time I left my room the bottle was less than a quarter full.

I am lucky I am a wizard. Anyone else would not have found Boromir’s room in my state. I knocked loudly and called to him through the door. “Boromir! Wake up lad!”

The door opened abruptly and the handsome Gondoran stood in it staring at me. His hair was mussed with sleep and he was clothed only in a pair of loose fitting pants. Elven sleep pants, held around his trim hips by a thin drawstring.

My eyes raked hungrily over his body. Broad shoulders, well-muscled arms, and a chest littered with hairs slightly darker than those on his head. Those same hairs made a path down his body. Pointing like an arrow to... the drawstring. If I pulled on one of the loose ends, would they like fall like water down his hips and legs?

“Gandalf? What can I...”

The sentence was not complete before I reached out to catch the tie of his pants and tugged to release it. They started to cascade down his body just as I had imagined but Boromir’s hand stopped them before I could see more than a glimpse of his body’s secrets. 

“Gandalf!” One hand holding up his pants, he whirled me into the room and slammed the door. He had no sooner done it then I had him pressed to it, my mouth claiming his.

He stiffened in shock at first as I kissed him then started to respond. His lips moved against mine with growing sureness and his hand pressed to my back. I pulled from the heady kiss to look at him, my vision slightly fuzzed from drink. He was beautiful, his hair even more disheveled, his lips kiss swollen and gaping open. His hand though was still fisted in the fabric of his waistband, holding his pants up for dear life. 

My hand brushed over his shoulder and down his arm to stop at his hand. “Boromir. Just let go.”

He sighed and released his hold. The pants slid down his body, inviting my eyes to follow. They caught for a moment on the jutting head of his semi-erection. Then it was there, glorious to be seen.

I kissed him again and gripped the lovely length of flesh, stroking the silky skin and testing its impressive weight. His hands were busy trying to get into my robes, fighting with my belt. My head was swimming. We moved toward the bed, with me losing clothing along the way, until we tumbled naked and intertwined down on to the mattress.

That was the last thing I remember.

I awoke the next morning feeling that dwarves must have used my head as an anvil. It pounded, reverberating like a bell. My throat and mouth were pasty, causing me to reach for the glass of water that normally sat on my bedside. It wasn’t there, in fact my hand made contact with warm flesh instead. A shoulder, smooth and sun-kissed, met my eyes when I opened them. Boromir.

I was laying naked in Boromir’s bed after a night of drunken lovemaking. And I didn’t remember a thing. Panic shot through me as I realized that I had no memory past coming to his room, undressing him and kissing him. That kiss was enough though, that was a kiss that promised more. And more had apparently occurred.

Careful not to wake him I extracted myself from the bed and pulled my robe and boots on as I headed toward the door. I then did something for which I am ashamed. I left.

Without a note or a backward glance I left. Left remembering more and more, his hands removing my robes and our bodies rubbing together, but anything past that delicious foreplay was lost to me. So I left a beautiful man alone in his bed because I could not face him and tell him that I did not remember our night of passion. Instead I went to my room and hid like a coward.

When our paths crossed much later in the day, Boromir eyes avoided me and his voice was cold as he spoke my name in greeting. It went on like that for days, polite evasion on both our parts, neither willing to speak for more than a few moments for fear of what might be said.

When Aragorn returned the Steward’s heir began to openly flirt with him. Aragorn responded at first but quickly became uncomfortable as Boromir’s advances became more blatant. Arwen very nearly flew into a rage over it. It was one thing for him to abscond off to the woods for bit of fun, but to see her betrothed being groped and leered at right in front of her was too much. Finally one night both men came to dinner baring blackened eyes, looking like they’d been in a major scuffle, which they had. The flirting ended there but Boromir kept scowling at me through the dinner. 

Tensions were mounting along with my guilt. Frodo was much improved and our course was set but nothing was happening. The quest was failing before it even began. 

One eve I was playing the avoidance game with Boromir, hiding in Imladris’ library, when Merry appeared as though out of thin air. “Gandalf, what did you do to him?!”

I blinked at the hobbit, knowing exactly what he was talking about but choosing to feign innocence. “To whom are you referring?”

“Boromir! And don’t you play dumb with me, I know you went and shagged him after I told you he fancied you. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known you were going to treat him like that.” He was angry. If I hadn’t deserved it, I might have been angry in return. 

“I... made an error.” 

“To right you did. The question is why? Was the sex terrible or something? Or are you just a dirty old man who uses men as he pleases without so much as a thank you?” He crossed his arms and gave me a dangerous look. For a moment I had the impression that Merry might even try to give me a good thrashing for my actions. It would have been down right comical at any other time. 

I sighed, trying to find a way to explain myself without revealing my exact shame. “I can assure you that is not the case. I never meant to hurt Boromir... but I was intoxicated that night and I... panicked in the morning.” My eyes found the floor rather than look at Merry while I spoke. When I did look at him, he had a strange look on his face. Like he was puzzling something out.

“So you just got up and left?”

Trust it to a hobbit to be blunt. And Merry was among the bluntest of his kind. He often played the fool, hiding his sharp wit behind a mask of naiveté in order to get away with a hundred little schemes and gambles.

“It was not my finest moment but yes that is exactly what I did. Although, I don’t see why I should have to explain myself to you Meriadoc Brandybuck.” I hadn’t intended to sound so defensive but I did. 

The hobbit blinked then set his fists on his hips. “No, you should be explaining yourself to Boromir. He’s the one you hurt.”

I winced. “Yes. I intend to.” 

“Well you’d better be quick about it.” He manner shifted then and a smile fluttered over his lips. “So... how was it then? Boromir’s as sweet a lover as a hobbit, or a wizard, could want. If Pip and I ever had use of a third for more than a night, I dare saw we’d be happy with him.”

“Er... yes. He was good.” Hiding my humiliation was going to be hard with Merry’s nosy questions flying. I rose to stand, about to excuse myself, when he spoke again.

“What did you think of that birthmark?” He gave me a lazy smile and a wink.

Birthmark. Oh hell, I didn’t remember Boromir having any birthmark. I scanned my memory for even the tiniest spark of remembrance, trying very hard to school my face to hide my confusion.

“Gandalf? You did see the birthmark, right?” He leaned in closer, his eyebrow raised in question.

“I... well that is...”

“Bloody hell! Pippin was right!”

I stared at him in shock as Hobbits very rarely curse. “Right about what?” I sputtered.

“You don’t remember! You’d gotten so pissed that you screwed him and then woke up without any memory of having done it!!” His look was a mixture of amusement and astonishment.

I couldn’t speak, he’d caught me in my own blunder and there wasn’t a thing I could do. Finally I croaked something out. “Merry... this is quite bad enough without you gloating over it.”

“Well I’ll be, you’re just as upset over this as he is. What a pair of fools you both are. Why didn’t you just tell him? Or better yet, wake him up and diddle him when you could remember it?”

Now that was a good question, why didn’t I just deal with the situation then? “I don’t know, as I said before I panicked. Really Merry, getting drunk and seducing handsome men is a rare event for me. I had no idea how Boromir was going to react to the sex itself, let alone the fact that I couldn’t remember it. I’ve wronged him greatly in this.” 

Merry surprised me by reaching out to squeeze my arm. “Go to him Gandalf. Talk to him. You’re both hurting and no good can come of it.”

I could only nod and stand up to leave the room. Before I left. I turned back to give the hobbit a grateful smile. “How did you get so wise Merry?”

He flashed me a shit-eating grin. “Oh I’m a genius when it comes to matters of the heart. Now go.”

I nodded and left quickly to make my way to Boromir’s room. How many times in the past weeks had I stood at his door wanting to knock only to have my fear get the better of me? I was not going to turn tail again. I sighed, rapped on the door and waited, fidgeting with my belt.

“Yes?” The door opened and Boromir looked out at me. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Can I come in?”

He shrugged and moved away from the door. “ If you like.” The soldier walked to a chair and pulled it out to sit down and remove his boots. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”

His tone was cold and his eyes hard as he looked at me. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Talk this time? How novel. What shall we talk about? The weather perhaps... or the quest? Maybe the state of affairs in Gondor? What in the whole of Middle-earth could we talk about?” His voice had gone from cold to cross, sarcasm dripping from the harsh words. It hurt but I couldn’t help thinking that I had earned it.

“Boromir... I made a mistake.” 

He stood and began to unhook the clasps of his ornate tunic. “Fancy that. I didn’t know wizards could make mistakes, but if you say so.” 

I started to finger the Horn of Gondor where it hung by the door, rather then look at him. “Yes we can make mistakes. We are subject to the same failures that mortal men are. Just because you have great wisdom doesn’t mean that you... Boromir!”

When my eyes had moved back to him I found the Gondoran prince stripped down to his small clothes. He removed that last garment and stood before me, naked and vulnerable. “What the devil are you doing?”

“What is expected of me. But could you at least pay me this time?”

My throat had gone dry. He was beautiful there was no doubt. How I could have forgotten a sight like this was beyond me. His question though shocked me from my thoughts. “Pay you?”

“Yes. If I am to be your whore you may as well pay me. Maybe then I can look myself in the mirror without feeling like dirt.” The pain in his eyes shot straight into my heart.

“Oh Boromir. Please forgive me. I never meant this... I... you are not my whore. You’re not anyone’s whore.” Again I averted my eyes rather than see what my pride had done.

“Look at me!” He shouted and I did. “What am I to you then? A momentary distraction? One night of pleasure to be used and cast aside?! I worshiped you! Never imagined that anyone like you would even speak to me let alone come to my door in the night to ravish me. I thought I’d died and entered paradise, thought I would wake to find it all a dream. But instead I woke up alone, knowing that you’d been there; the bed was still warm for fucks sake! Why did you leave?” 

Tears were streaming down his face. The truth was needed but I feared even it could not heal this wound. “I was ashamed. Not of you but of myself. I was drunk and not thinking clearly Boromir. I felt that I had used you and couldn’t face that. But the worst of it... I couldn’t remember... making love to you.”

He blinked and I used his moment of bewilderment to snatch a handkerchief from the dresser and cross the room to wipe his eyes and face. He just stared at me as I did it, words seeming to catch in his throat. “You don’t remember?”

I sighed. “I remember coming to your door and undoing your pants. I can remember kissing you and undressing and making it to your bed but no Boromir, I don’t remember a thing about the actual sex. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to remember, I really have. I’ve thought over and over about it and meditated and cast spells but I just have no memory of it.” I smiled, trying to pour the entire well of affection I felt for him into the smile. “Forgive me?”

He swallowed. “Why didn’t you say something? That morning?”

“I don’t know. It was a terrible thing to do. Maybe I’m a great fool. It would take a fool to turn his back on any man as fine and lovely as you were that morning.” I smiled at him coyly. 

He grinned in spite of himself but then it faded. “It’s not as easy as that Gandalf. You can’t just flatter my pain. Or wipe it away with my tears.”

“No?” That little smile had given me hope and fueled my mischievous nature. “Can I kiss it away?”

Boromir didn’t speak; he just wet his lips slightly and swallowed. I gently reached up to caress his face, treating him as one might a skittish colt. His breath started to come faster as my hand cupped his cheek. I leaned in to give him a tender kiss, light and testing, ready to pull back at the barest suggestion of protest. He didn’t respond but neither did he recoil. I pulled away and stared in question at him, fingers moving against his ear. 

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“Be here when I wake up in the morning and remember this time.” His eyes were moist with the threat of more tears.

“Those are promises I think I can keep.” I kissed him again, more deeply, and thrilled at his timid response. I wanted him, needed him with an all consuming flame of desire, but this time had to be slow. I savored his mouth, memorizing each touch and taste, trying to imprint it all in my mind.

He was naked but I was not, so I stepped back to remove my belt. Boromir did not move to help me, instead his eyes fixed on my hands, watching intently as I let the belt fall to the floor. The robes came off and for a moment he seemed mesmerized by the way the thick fabric moved as it joined the belt.

I was not wearing my usual sweater but I had my leggings and boots still on. Boromir moved forward and kneeled before me to untie my bootlaces. I smiled down at him, feeling I might burst with affection. As the boots were loosened I stepped from them and pushed down the woolen leggings. He waited, still on the floor, and watched. Before had been so urgent and hard, we had not had time to just look at each other. Now I stayed still a moment to allow his eyes to move over my pale skin. Suddenly, I felt very old as I beheld his battle-hardened body for the second time. Flashes of memory bombarded me as that night and this came into comparison in my mind. This I would remember. 

“Come Boromir, we... I have a lot to make up for.” I reached down my hand and he gave me his with a gentle smile before standing to kiss me sweetly. We walked hand in hand to the bed and sat down together slowly, touching and caressing, making each contact linger. 

We eased back together and I began to kiss and explore his throat at a leisurely pace. He arched as I moved down onto his chest and moaned my name. I had to check myself so I didn’t just rush forward to taste more of his wondrous flesh. His hands stroked and petted my hair, seeming to enjoy the feel. I made an effort to brush my beard over his skin as I licked and kissed his left nipple. He rewarded me with groans of pleasure.

I moved onto my knees over him and let my beard glide down his stomach, tickling the sun-darkened muscles. It made him moan and writhe, the sound and sight lovely to my senses. The moan became a whimper as the long whiskers drifted down the over the erect and inviting length of him.

Shifting up a little, I drank in the vision before me. His face flushed and pleading, the way his chest rose and fell with his breath, the flutter of nerves in his stomach. “You are beautiful Boromir.”

He swallowed and tears slide down his face to be lost in his hair. “Thank you.”

I made to move up the bed but a hand stopped me. 

“No, don’t stop.”

I nodded and leaned back down to nuzzle him before snaking my tongue out for a taste. He gasped and arched, prompting me to envelope him completely. Again and again I took him into my mouth, while my fingers caressed his thighs. Boromir’s litany of moans and gasps washed over me, fueling my hunger.

But as high as my passions rose, I still maintained a slow, gentle pace. I would not do that to him again, would not ravish him and forget. I would commit every touch, taste, smell, sound and sight to memory. If ever anyone asked me in the years to come, which night of lovemaking was dearest to my heart, which I remembered most; I wanted this night to be the answer.

Boromir gasped as I increased my suction and began to speed up my movements. One hand found my hair and petted the grey mass lovingly. His voice came in raspy bursts. 

“Gandalf... Gandalf!” It was so sweet to hear. “Yes Gandalf!!!” 

The hand left my head and I felt the bed shift. I looked up to find him propped on his elbows, eyes fixed on the sight of me pleasuring him. For a moment we shared a silent exchange. Then I took him deeply, my fingers probing and fondling to speed his release. 

Boromir arched like a cat and growled deep in his throat as my tongue was suddenly bathed in his passion. I swallowed until his whimpering ceased and moved up to cradle him, covering his face with kisses.

“Oil?” The word was a question, as was the press of my urgent hardness against his hip. 

He found his voice after a few moments of licking his lips. “The nightstand on the right, in the drawer.”

I kissed him and rolled over to fetch the bottle. “Was it like this before? The other time I mean?”

“No.” He shook his head and watched me move. “It was fast and hard. You really don’t remember at all?”

The astonishment in his voice was plain. “No I don’t, but I’ll remember this.” 

I crawled back to kiss him again; still so careful as I spread his legs and pushed them up. With oily fingers I prepped him, first one finger then two, scissoring gently, trying to make him ready. “Did I take you last time? Maybe I should...”

“Oh gods Gandalf!! I need you.” 

His frantic plea melted away the last of my uncertainty. I kneeled between his legs and moved to enter his body, doing so with a sweet sigh. It was perfection, the slow, easy slide into him. He reached for me and my lips met his in a needy kiss. Our bodies moved together, linked, one. Becoming a single entity for this wondrous, too brief union.

How I could have forgotten making love to this man was beyond me. Everything about him was beautiful; the velvet heat of his body, the stab of his reawakened length into my stomach, the feel of his mouth against mine, his hands on my back. Everything.

If I could have, I would have made it last for hours but my need was mounting with each easy stroke into him. My speed increased as I reared up and threw my head back, keening and crying out his name. 

“Boromir! Boromir!” I flailed my head, my hair shifting to form a curtain over my face. Through the screen of grey I could see his expression of total bliss and it sent me reeling into climax with a wordless shout.

“Gandalf!! Yes!!” His body shook and clenched around me as we fell together into the matchless oblivion of release.

The next thing I was conscious of were callused hands caressing my shoulders and quiet humming. I moved, my body leaving his. Oh how I missed that connection.

“With me again?” He grinned, his grey eyes crinkling.

“Yes, and with full recognizance.” I kiss him gently and sighed. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He laughed. “After what you just did? I think I can manage.” 

We were soon both chuckling and kissing again, weeks of tension and pain having washed away in the sweetness of it all. I felt a hundred times lighter, as I started to fondle and explore his body once more. 

“You insatiable old fiend, can’t you let a man sleep?” He chuckled and caught my hands, kissing the fingers. 

“Sorry, you are just to lovely.” I nestled against him, cradling his body and lazily caressing his arms. “So... sexy... where exactly is that birthmark?”

He turned his face to mine and blinked. “What birthmark?”

“The one that Merry... ” The terrible imp. Merry had tricked me; he had made up a birthmark just to catch me up. I laughed out loud and squeezed Boromir tightly. “Never mind my dear. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

Boromir smiled again, a little confused but to tired to care from the look of him. “And thank you for finally being honest with me.” 

We shared another tender kiss and settled down to drift into a comfortable slumber. 

Together. 

The End


End file.
